


Spectrum

by TheColorBlue



Category: Alice in Wonderland (2010)
Genre: Colors, F/M, multiplicity, plurality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-28
Updated: 2011-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:23:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheColorBlue/pseuds/TheColorBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Sometimes, when his smile appears frozen and his eyes go distant, all that means is that they're talking, inside, while he's sitting at the table and the air around them is dense with fog and the world seems so quiet outside.</i> (Involves <a href="http://www.astraeasweb.net/plural/">plurals</a> (multiple people sharing the same body) and experimentation with the use of colors and color associations).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spectrum

Alice has said that this is all her dream, and Hatter says, "Then I wouldn't be real either."

"No," she agrees. "You wouldn't."

And she's smiling the faint, untroubled smile of a dreamer and he...smiles back at her but, somehow, he feels so deeply sad.

 _They both do._

\--

Sometimes, when his smile appears frozen and his eyes go distant, all that means is that they're talking, inside, while he's sitting at the table and the air around them is dense with fog and the world seems so quiet outside. There's _two of them_ , it feels like sometimes--but it's hard to tell because there are no names or faces, just a sense like two different colors, two different spools of thread unwound--yellow like lemon meringue, and orange like a burning sunset--and then perhaps scents, like spicy cloves and nutmeg, or smoky black tea.

They watch each other work. Lemon meringue is calmer. He hums as he sews feathers and veils and sequins to molded hats. He likes minute threadwork and working steadily at a project through the long hours and then finally having something beautiful and new and finished in his hands. Orange works with sharpness and a kind of cutting energy. His hats tend towards bombastic and flamboyant. He loves what they do, but he gets angry easily. He throws hats and pin cushions and teapots when he feels as though things are not going the way they ought to be, leaving their workspace a mess and tea stains to soak into the walls.

Lemon will rescue the hats later and tell them it's all right, he'll fix them up and find them a home and a head to sit on, they'll see.

They know they're crazy, but there's a kind of solace in not being alone. They have the Dormouse and the March Hare. And they have each other, as it were.

\--

They both love Alice. This is the part that confuses them the most. Lemon will begin the thought, and Orange will finish.

"Why is it," Lemon says, "you're always too small--"

"--or too tall," Orange finishes. There is fond affection on their face. Wistfulness.

Too-large Alice looks down at them, just sort of smiling and warm, but not taking them so seriously in a certain way, not the way they'd both like it, the two in the head of the Hatter.

Lemon says inside, she still doesn't believe we're real.

What neither of them allow themselves to think: it would not matter, even if she did.

\--

It's hard, sometimes, to figure out what exists and what doesn't, when all that's out there is mist and madness and the sound of two voices, two spools of color winding and unwinding behind eyes like yellow-green glass. Maybe they're not real.

"I don't blame her for thinking so," Lemon says softly. They are in the White Queen's castle, and Lemon is so sad. Orange watches Lemon stare at themselves in a dresser mirror, their face looking washed out and pale and listless in the white glow of the bedroom lamp.

"We're not real," Lemon says, tapping a finger on the nose of their reflection. "Neither you nor I."

Orange moves about in the back of their mind, uneasy and uncertain and restless. And then he is the one staring into their wide, yellow-green eyes, and he is so suddenly angry. He is so angry. The lavender-black shadows under their eyes darken and darken and the colors of their tie and clothes blush and bleed. He turns violently from the mirror and he feels as though the color is spilling out from somewhere inside their chest and seeping into the threads of their clothes.

There is a feeling in their chest, and it is hard to tell who it belongs to. It is a feeling that is indigo blue and white and violet and dark, dark emerald green and sharp and cold and wanting.

"I want you to be Alice," someone says, the voice coming out of their mouth sounding distant and faraway. "Fully Alice."

 _My_ Alice, someone else whispers.

"I want you to know that I am real,"

 _for you to know that_ I _am real_.

We _are real._

And then the Hatter giggles--a small and uneasy sound.

And then he falls silent.

**Author's Note:**

> The fact that Tarrant was interpreted as having multiple personality disorder is [canon](http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/scotland/article7061171.ece). The fact that Depp is probably unaware of functional plurality in real life is a pity, but not surprising.


End file.
